


the day the music died

by kaydeefalls



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Drabble Sequence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-25
Updated: 2008-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 14:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaydeefalls/pseuds/kaydeefalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, eight kinds of days it could have been. Eight possible outcomes post-1.22, "What Kind of Day Has It Been?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	the day the music died

**1.** _bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step_

Laurie finds out when she reads it in the paper the next morning, of all the goddamned humiliating things. It's the last indignity she'll suffer on his part. Somehow that's not much of a comfort.

That night, she attends a lavish fundraising gala now rendered artificially solemn after Rosslyn. She wears a black satin gown and a bright, vapid smile, and spends most of the evening looking over her shoulder for an interruption that never comes, a pressed suit and misplaced chivalry she'll never encounter again.

She wonders bitterly if the White House will permit her to attend the funeral.

*

**2.** _while the king was looking down the jester stole his thorny crown_

The President's personal secretary, Joanie, is a perky young thing with a decent sense of organization and better legs. Dolores Landingham is under no illusions as to Joanie's real purpose here, but the girl's resourceful, and she'll do well enough. Mrs. Landingham stayed on for five weeks at the President's insistence, smoothing over the transition, but it's time and past she moved on.

She places the last of her personal effects into a box. It's her glass cookie jar, untouched for five weeks. "Good night, Mr. President."

She doesn't offer President Hoynes a cookie, and he doesn't ask for one.

*

**3.** _I can't remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride_

Abbey sinks down into the couch beside her husband. "I prescribed Zoey sedatives," she says quietly. "She needs sleep."

Jed's face is haggard. He's never looked _old_ to her before. "She told me she blames herself."

"She's hysterical, and she has every right to be. He was shot down right beside her. She loved him."

His eyes are bleak. "My God, Abbey, that young man never did an unkind thing in his life, and now—"

Abbey draws him into her arms. "I know, honey. I know."

She hasn't had the chance to cry yet. She doubts she'll get it.

*

**4.** _a generation lost in space with no time left to start again_

Gina Toscano is a special agent with the United States Secret Service. She serves her country, and does it damn well. She places the protection of her principal above all other considerations.

She failed.

An agent will take a bullet for her principal, if necessary. Gina did. In fact, she took two. But not the third.

After nine hours of surgery, six weeks of physical therapy, and two months retraining to become an active agent again, Gina goes home one night, removes her Sig Sauer P229 pistol from its holster, places it against her temple, and makes up the difference.

*

**5.** _but the man there said the music wouldn't play_

"…and the First Lady will be returning from Argentina tomorrow afternoon," the Press Secretary finished.

"Henry!"

"Steve."

"Was the First Lady's visit with church leaders…"

Danny Concannon sighs and caps his pen. Slow news day. He doesn't know why they even bother with the follow-up questions. Christ, the press briefings have been boring since—

Anyway. Boring. Henry's settling into the job competently, Danny has to admit. It's not his fault if he lacks a certain…flair.

He thinks maybe he'll accept the editor position they've finally offered him. The White House just isn't the place to be anymore. Not for him.

*

**6.** _but not a word was spoken, the church bells all were broken_

Ginger sticks her head in the Communications Director's office. "Sam, Charlie says we need the President's speech for the dinner tonight soonest, and—"

She cuts herself off. Sam has his elbows braced on the desk, his head cradled in his hands. His laptop isn't even open. His glasses rest haphazardly on the armchair halfway across the room. She isn't sure he even heard her.

He knows when the speech is due. She should leave.

"The words," he mutters. "They're just...not. They're not."

Ginger knows exactly what he means. She turns and pulls the office door silently shut behind her.

*

**7.** _we all got up to dance, oh, but we never got the chance_

To say Ainsley Hayes is astonished to be offered a White House job is putting it mildly. She always thought the President was misguided, though possessing some personal honor, but this proves it: he's off his rocker.

His Chief of Staff clearly feels the same. Mr. Lyman makes the offer in a dull monotone, barely glancing up from his desk. He doesn't want her there. She can tell.

There's almost moment where she thinks, maybe, it might be possible, there might be a way – but no, it's laughable, the thought of it. Not her. Not in _this_ White House.

*

**8.** _a long, long time ago, I can still remember_

When Joey Lucas gets to the West Wing, Leo meets her; for an instant, she's disappointed. Then she remembers Rosslyn.

She remembers odd moments, goofy smiles, headlines in the news the next day. He hadn't been her lover; he had hardly been her friend. But his _absence_ hits her again with strange suddenness.

His office door is closed. She wonders if anyone will ever reopen it. She wonders what happened to his pale slender assistant, the girl with big eyes that lit up when he was near.

Kenny touches her elbow lightly.

"Okay," Joey tells Leo. "Let's get to work."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] The Day The Music Died](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108855) by [kaydeefalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaydeefalls/pseuds/kaydeefalls), [lavenderfrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderfrost/pseuds/lavenderfrost)




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